


At the final breath that was drawn

by Jay_the_bird



Series: At the final breath [1]
Category: Ghosts (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Archery, Coming Out, I don't go into detail, I have a plan for this fic, M/M, Mary being frustrated., Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Title from a Hozier Song, and oblivious captain, but I will end up changing that plan, but you know how he died., chapter title courtesy of hozier, character tags to be added as I update, food club, julian's death, oblivious pat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:21:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23462380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jay_the_bird/pseuds/Jay_the_bird
Summary: Following Pat through the afterlife as he navigates being dead, not being married any more, and the fact that he has to share the afterlife with the other ghosts
Relationships: Alison/Mike (Ghosts TV 2019), Pat/Carol (Ghosts TV 2019) (briefly), The Captain/Pat (Ghosts TV 2019)
Series: At the final breath [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1701664
Comments: 46
Kudos: 83





	1. No kingdom to come

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be honest, I never thought I'd actually write this, but here we are.
> 
> Much thanks to the Ghiscord for encouraging my nonsense and reacting appropriately to the occasional lines of dialogue I sent them. 
> 
> \- Jay

It’s so very cold. The sun, which only moments ago felt like it was burning his skin, seems to have disappeared. Pat can’t feel it anymore. He can’t even feel the steering wheel beneath his head, although he can hear the horn blasting, so he knows that he must have collapsed onto it when he hit the tree.

In fact, Pat can’t really feel anything. No pain, no texture, no warmth. Just the clothes he’s wearing and his own arm, which his head is leaning on.

Pat gives his toes an experimental wiggle and is relieved to feel them respond. He’s not paralysed, at least.

He had a game plan, when he got into the bus. ‘Be prepared’ is the scout motto, and Pat follows that motto wherever he goes, even when he’s just had an arrow through his neck.

Evidently his first plan (drive to the hospital and then call someone to pick up the kids) has gone somewhat sideways.

So he makes another one. Plans can get you through anything. Pat believes that with his whole heart. It’s just a case of breaking everything down into manageable steps, so they can be ticked off for a sense of achievement. Step one, in this case, being to sit up. Pat opens his eyes and looks at the cracked leather of the steering wheel, preparing himself for whatever happens next. Presumably, he thinks, there will be a rush of pain, and then everything will come back into focus, and he’ll feel everything again. Pat doesn’t really want to face that, but he also doesn’t want to be like this forever, cold and numb and lying on the steering wheel of the scout bus.

He sits up.

Unfortunately, his body doesn’t sit up with him, on account of being dead.

Pat stares at the back of his own head, feeling slightly queasy. It’s funny, he thinks, how he can notice details at a time like this. The way his hair is lying a bit funny against the back of his scarf, the fact that his glasses have slipped to one side and are squashing his nose. He automatically reaches to adjust them and realises halfway to his face that it won’t do any good. In the background, the horn is still blaring.

Nothing feels real. People don’t die like this, at least not in Pat’s mind. People die at home, surrounded by family, or on miserable days with heavy cloud cover and mud underfoot. People don’t die on scouting trips in the middle of summer, not when they’ve got holidays booked for three weeks’ time, not when they’ve got a kid on the way.

“You’d better move before it gets uncomfortable.”

The voice belongs to a man whose moustache looks like it’s been trained in combat. He’s been standing quietly next to Pat for an unspecified amount of time, presumably waiting to scare him out of his wits – which he’s succeeded at. Pat jumps a little before giving him a nervous smile. Whoever the man is, he offers a hand and helps him climb out of the chair, all while avoiding contact with Pat’s body.

Once Pat’s stood up, he self-consciously brushes himself down. The stern man is dressed in some sort of military uniform, like an officer from one of the world wars. It’s ridiculously neat, which makes Pat feel a little embarrassed about his crumbled shirt.

“Hi.” Pat smiles, trying to be friendly in the face of things. “I’m Patrick, but Pat’s fine.”

“Hm.” Replies the man, looking him and down. “I’m the Captain.” He smiles, looking at the pips on the Captain’s shoulders.

“I can see that.” The joke comes out slightly odd, but under the circumstances Pat thinks he’s doing alright at this whole talking thing. “So are you some kind of… guardian angel?” That earns him a moustache twitch. Apparently, the Captain finds the concept amusing. Pat doesn't know whether that's a good thing or not.

“Definitely not.” The Captain replies, with a hint of a smile. He looks Pat up and down in a way that feels as if he’s judging him. “I’m a ghost.” Pat nods, blinking deliberately in an attempt to focus his vision. There was never any clear idea of the afterlife in his mind, just a vague impression of pearly gates. Still, this isn’t anything close to what he expected. It takes him several deep breaths for him to come to terms with the idea of a ghostly limbo. It takes several more for him to realise that he doesn’t need to breathe anymore. “Patrick?”

“Just Pat. Nobody calls me Patrick.” Pat smiles in what he hopes is a friendly manner. He hasn’t been called Patrick in ages. Carol called him Pat, and everyone else followed her lead. “I’m fine. Just processing, that’s all.”

“Take your time.” The Captain replies quietly. He’s got a look on his face that Pat can’t quite name.

“I’m fine.” He insists, although from the way the Captain’s eyebrows shoot up, it’s not convincing. “Honestly Cap, I’m – can you hear sirens?” They both go quiet for a few seconds, concentrating.

“That would be the ambulance. Heather must have called them.” Pat looks slightly sick at the thought. Again, they don’t speak for a moment, the Captain frowning as realisation dawns. “Did you say Cap?”

“Should I not have?”

“Nobody calls me Cap, Patrick.” He sounds stern again, any warmth in his voice gone. “Nobody, you understand?”

“Yes sir.” Says Pat, looking at his shoes.

“Ngk.” When Pat looks up, he sees that the Captain is gripping his drill stick a little tighter than before. “Ahem. At ease.” He looks at the drill stick, wondering how it ended up being a ghost-stick. Which, Pat thinks to himself, is not a euphemism. That particular train of thought looks like it’s headed somewhere Pat doesn’t want to go just yet, so he casts around for something to distract himself. Out of the windows he can see the targets and archery equipment, but no children.

“Where did the kids go?” They really aren’t anywhere within eyesight. Pat feels a bit of the lost child panic rolling in.

“Inside. They went to tell Heather what happened.” The panic fades before it’s had a chance to take hold. He looks towards the house, trying to glimpse some movement through the windows. “We should move.”

“Why? They can’t see us, can they?” Paramedics are heading towards the bus, not seeming to be in any hurry.

“No, but it isn’t pleasant when they walk through you.” The Captain supresses a shudder. Nodding along, Pat heads towards the door, stepping out into the sunlight as the first of the paramedics reaches them. He stands by as they climb into the bus, listening to them calling for a stretcher, watching one emerge with the arrow whose ghostly twin is still stuck through Pat’s neck. It’s a strange sight for him to watch his own body being carried away, and he’s oddly grateful for the quiet presence of the Captain, stood in silent vigil next to him.

Tyres on gravel. Pat steps away from the conversation he was eavesdropping on and looks over towards the gate. He must look upset, because the Captain strides over to him and looks over at the car that’s pulling up.

“I assume that’s your wife.” Even nodding feels like an effort as Pat watches the car doors open and sees Morris go around to help Carol out.

“Ex-wife, I guess.” This appears to confuse the Captain, so Pat explains. “Well, you know. ‘Til death do us part. Which it has done.” That doesn’t stop Pat from wanting to run over to Carol and tell her that everything will be ok. He watches Morris telling her instead, and purposefully stays back. There’s no point in breaking his own heart by confirming that she won’t see or hear him. Pat looks up at the Captain, stood next to him with an unreadable expression on his face. "She's pregnant. We weren't going to tell anyone for a bit - it's only been three weeks - but we were going to have a baby." Now he feels like crying, which is definitely not what he was going for with this. "Suppose I won't be able to meet my kid now." His voice cracks a little, and before he knows it, there are tears rolling down his face. The Captain pats him on the shoulder somewhat awkwardly, evidently unsure of what to do. 

“Buck up, it’s not all bad.” It’s not the most sensitive thing to say, but the fact that the Captain is trying is oddly sweet. Pat wipes his face and gives him a watery smile.

“I can see that.” He replies, sniffing a bit. “No complaints about the company, that’s for sure.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that. Some of the others are a bit much to cope with.”

"There are others?" Pat asks. He had been imagining that it was just the two of them, that he would be spending eternity alone with the Captain. That particular train of thought had also led to him imagining the two of them lying out in the field together on hot summer days and kissing under the stars in the cool night air. He hastily reworks his plans to include an unspecified number of other ghosts also inhabiting the house. This mostly involves thinking of excuses to offer them when he inevitably sneaks away with the Captain to go and lie out in the fields together.

Not that Pat’s getting ahead of himself at all.

“They’ll be inside. Fanny – that is, the old Lady Button - disapproves of the scouts. She thinks your lot are too loud.” The Captain glances at Pat before looking towards the front door of Button House. “I vouched for you a few years back, of course, the first time you came here. It’s a fine institution, and the troops couldn’t have a better leader.” Pat feels his cheeks heat up, even if he’s not sure that blushing is possible anymore. He certainly hopes it isn’t, because that would make acting cool around certain people a lot easier.

“You can’t have seen much then. I never could get the hang of the whole discipline thing.” His attempt at self-deprecation is waved away, the Captain looking at him with something like envy.

“They like you, and that’s the important thing.” This is said with such gravity that Pat feels the need to process it for a moment.

“What about the others? Do they like you?” The Captain laughs sharply and bitterly.

“I’m not their leader. That would be Fanny, as I’m sure she’ll make clear. And… no. I don’t think they do.” Pat doesn’t know what to say. He goes quiet, looking over at Carol as she hugs Morris.

“I might not have known you long, but you seem pretty likable to me.” He offers, smiling at the Captain, who clears his throat and tries not to look pleased. Pat beams at this small success.

One by one, the vehicles drive away. Parents arrive to collect the kids, who are unusually quiet in their goodbyes. The bus is taken away by someone Pat doesn’t recognise, presumably to be hosed down. It’s a sombre affair, everyone making an effort to say something to Carol before she eventually leaves, Morris nearly hitting one of the posts on his way out.

As the sound of crunching gravel fades, the Captain looks towards the front door again.

“We should go inside.” He says. “I expect they’ll be waiting to meet you, and you really should have a look around before you choose a room.” Pat nods, still looking at the gates as if he expects Carol or someone to come back for him. “Patrick?” Tearing his eyes away, he tries a smile.

“Have to face them sometime, don’t I?” It takes a moment, but he draws himself up, frowning in the door’s direction. “You’ll stick with me?” He glances at the Captain, his frown melting away as he does. A hint of a smile breaks through the Captain’s stern demeanour.

“Of course.”


	2. I'd suffer hell if you'd tell me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's a second chapter, and I've even planned a third!  
> Wow, hyper focussing really is a gift... if only I could figure out how to do it on school work.
> 
> Thanks to all the lovely people who left comments and kudos last chapter and to everyone who hyped me up to write more! Sending good vibes your way!
> 
> -Jay

Fanny is a force to be reckoned with, which is the nicest way that Pat can think of to say that she’s a little bit scary. She sweeps around like she owns the place – which, as she reminds everyone constantly, she did – showing off all the rooms with a commentary that he tries to remember in case it comes in useful later. The commentary is interrupted by additional facts from the others, which varies in helpfulness.

“Moonah stone was here” Robin interjects in one of the dining rooms, and everyone nods seriously.

“This is where I come to write.” Says Thomas in the lounge, and everyone sighs. Pat doesn’t really understand the reactions, and he’s not sure he ever will. There are a lot of them, all milling around and talking over one another, and he’s really not sure if he’s got everyone’s names right.

As he promised, the Captain stays with him through the tour and the subsequent questioning. He feels like he shouldn’t be as grateful for that as he is, but having one steady, somewhat familiar face in the crowd goes a long way towards making Pat feel more secure in his ability to cope.

Pat ends up bedding down in the room next to the Captain, which means that he gets to ‘accidently’ run into him in the mornings. It also happens to be in the quieter side of the house, meaning it’s away from all the drama that certain residents bring.

Certain residents meaning Thomas, who seems to think of midnight as being the perfect time to compose love poems.

He manages to be friendly with everyone, even despite Robin taking it as his duty to spend a week lurking in dark corners and scaring Pat out of his wits. Despite this, Pat doesn’t feel like he’s got any particularly special friends. Everyone else seems to have someone they get along with, and he often feels like he’s just tagging along. At least Kitty’s always up for a chat, which Pat takes advantage of a lot, trying to avoid following the Captain around like a lost puppy.

Carol used to say that Pat imprinted on people in new situations like a duckling. He always used to disagree with her over that, but deep down, he knows it’s true. It’s how he met Morris, it’s how he met Carol. It certainly doesn’t help that the Captain is undeniably attractive and even more undeniably single.

In the first few weeks of his death, Pat has a serious conversation with himself about catching feelings in the afterlife. His marriage is over. If Pat were to be honest with himself, that was looking fairly inevitable even before he died. Not that he would have gone looking for someone else when alive – Pat has never understood how people can cheat on each other – but now that he’s dead and so not technically married anymore, the only guilt he feels is the automatic response to being caught looking, which happens more often that he likes to admit.

Mary manages to call him out on this the most. She has excellent eyebrow game, which seems to be used exclusively for the purposes of judging others silently. Pat is almost certain that she has him figured out already, just from the looks she gives him when she walks into a room and sees him gazing tenderly at the Captain again. Not that she is a particularly quiet person. Whatever her opinions are, she makes them known freely and with abundant pluralisation.

Pat jumps at any chance to spend the day with the Captain. They usually go walking in the open air together, and Pat tries his best to show off his knowledge of plants and survival skills. The Captain, in return, tells him about the politics of Button House, which Pat feels extremely grateful for. He even manages to get the Captain to lie down in the grass and look at the clouds with him, which Pat regards as a great success.

As summer turns to autumn they wander through the orchards and sit under the trees, and when the cold blows in, Pat longs for it to snow so they can have an excuse to go outside again. Unfortunately, it’s a bitterly cold winter, and though the ground becomes hard as iron underfoot, there isn’t a flake of snow in the grounds of Button House, so Pat spends his time instead learning how to play chess and memorising the fastest routes around the house. It’s a lonely time, until Christmas rolls around and fills the house with the fanciest party that Pat has ever seen.

The grand Christmas dinner is slightly ruined for the ghosts when Robin decides to put Humphry’s head in the place where the Turkey is eventually set, leading to the amusing sight of an angry Tudor head gradually emerging from the roasted bird while criticising the meal as lacking any sense of grandeur and style.

They go walking together again in the spring. The fields are strewn with brightly coloured wildflowers, and the Captain keeps lamenting the fact that he can’t pick them.

“You could use some for your room, brighten the place up a bit, make it feel more homely.” He points out clusters of flowers with his drill stick and sighs.

“We’ll just have to come out here more often then, so we can enjoy the flowers anyway.” The Captain does that little pleased smile that he does, the one that does something funny to Pat’s heart.

“It’s a date.” He says, which causes Pat to be grateful once again that ghosts can’t blush. The amount of times he thanks the universe for this particular fact is getting out of hand. Pat keeps putting off the inevitable conversation with himself about how to stop catching more feelings. The problem is, every time he thinks about trying to curb his feelings for the Captain, the man in question does something unexpectedly wonderful and Pat just finds himself falling all over again.

There’s something special about learning more about the Captain. Pat falls head over heels for him every time, though he’s still in denial about whether he wants to be friends or something more. Even so, he keeps any feelings that he might have firmly under wraps. While the Captain definitely swings his way, he seems to have definite preference for men who are not Pat – that is, those who are authoritative and strong looking. So, as a precaution against any inevitable awkward turning down in the case of Pat ever confessing his feelings, Pat decides to aim for friends and wait for this crush to blow over.

Unfortunately for him, in just less than a year of knowing the man, the crush is, if anything, stronger than ever, which does not bode well for Pat avoiding any heartbreak later on.

To distract himself as much as anything, Pat suggests doing a games night and having people give talks on different days. The Captain backs him up, and so do Robin, Mary, and Humphry, although Pat doesn’t know whether that’s because they agree with him or because they don’t want the Captain to glare at them anymore.

Either way, the talks are a success. After Humphry gives his speech on how he ended up beheaded, everyone wants to do one.

With the Captain’s help, Pat manages to work out a rota where, week by week, they get through everyone. There are complaints, because there are always complaints, and in they end up having to organise the whole thing around Robin, who only ever wants to do talks at the full moon. It’s when he’s sat listening to Kitty talking about her fondness for rabbits that Pat realises that he’s become a part of the group.

They watch the sunset together one Friday evening in early summer, sat side by side on the bench opposite the house. The humming of insects is far enough away that it isn’t annoying, and the other ghosts are engaged in watching Robin beat Fanny at chess again. For once, it’s a peaceful evening, where they can be alone together without any interruptions. Despite the glorious colours streaking across the sky, painting it in gold and purple and red, Pat can’t keep from looking at the Captain, bathed in the dying sunlight.

“We make a good team” He tells him, just to see that small pleased smile that he loves so much.

“They like you and they listen to me.” The Captain almost chuckles, which is a victory that Pat will savour for days. “You’ve settled in remarkably well.”

“I didn’t think I would, to begin with.”

“I never doubted you.” He reassures Pat, who huffs, evidently not believing him. “You should have seen me when I first died. I spent days trying to figure out how to jump the wall.” That gets a full on laugh out of Pat, and the Captain looks extraordinarily pleased with himself. Pat leans back at an angle that is more comfortable on his neck.

“What, you didn’t want to spend your death with that lot?” He gestures towards Button House and its occupants and tries not to laugh. “Can’t imagine why.” The Captain laughs sharply and then goes quiet for a minute, sitting in companionable silence with Pat as they watch the sun set over the treetops. He lays his drill stick down on the bench next to him.

“I’m glad I didn’t find a way out.” Turning his head, Pat finds that the Captain is no longer watching the sunset. “Wouldn’t have met you otherwise.”

Pat grins at his shoes, glancing back and forth from the Captain’s face while he tries to think of some way to reply to that. In the end, he settles for nudging the Captain with his elbow and shuffling a little closer. He even dares to lean against him a little, just over the ‘friend line’ that Pat has set up in his mind. Just this once, he thinks. Just cross it this once, and then go back behind the line tomorrow.

“Why were you on your own?” He asks quietly. “When I died, why didn’t you go and get someone?” There’s moment of stillness before the Captain answers, where Pat wonders if he should’ve said something else.

“I couldn’t just leave you, Patrick.” The Captain says slowly, as if still finding the words. “Nobody should die alone.” He sounds so matter of fact about it that Pat almost feels embarrassed by how much that means to him. Whatever response he has sticks in his throat for a second.

“Well… thank you.” Pat says finally, looking up at the sky. The first stars are coming out. Pat looks for the plough and can’t quite find it. “It’s almost been a year, you know.”

“Hm.” Says the Captain, looking sideways at him. He looks slightly concerned, which surprises Pat for some reason, as if he hadn’t quite factored into his world view that the Captain could be concerned about him. “Look, Patrick, anything you need, on the day - I know it can be difficult, especially the first death day, so if it’s distracting you need, or some peace and quiet, or – well, anything. Just ask.”

“I will.” Pat says earnestly, putting his hand on the Captain’s knee. “I’ll let you know, promise. And – I am fine. Just reminiscing. I might have died, but it doesn’t mean it’s been a bad year.” He pats the Captain’s knee before sitting back and folding his hands on his own lap. “No complaints about the company, that’s for sure.” That brings sharp laughter from the Captain. Just in that moment, everything feels right with the world, and Pat feels inordinately pleased with himself for making the Captain laugh, at knowing how to make him smile.

If ‘just friends’ means he gets this, then Pat is fine with just friends.


	3. Those who lead us oh so morally

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! this one took longer than I was expecting. I have now reached the end of the three chapters I had planned, so unless inspiration strikes me with a brick, this is on hold for a bit. That being said, thank you once more to all those who have been supporting me through writing so far. Love you guys.
> 
> \- Jay

“Patrick, could you come with me a minute?” Everybody stops to look around at the Captain as he bursts through the closed door in a dramatic fashion. Mary freezes in the middle of miming milking a cow, which has been a confusing experience anyway, because the charades topic is supposed to be historical figures. There is a clear note of panic in the Captain’s voice. Pat gets up quickly, almost tripping over his own feet.

“Carry on without me guys, won’t be a minute.” He heads to the door, the Captain following close behind. Once they are out of earshot, he turns around. “What happened?”

“You know the Member of Parliament I was guarding – you called him a tory bast-“

“Yes, we both know what I called him. What’s wrong?”

“I think he’s dead.” The word cuts through everything else, leaving Pat in stunned silence. Even after all this time in the afterlife, it sounds final. Ominous.

“What makes you think that?” He asks in a low voice, glancing towards the room where the others are still playing charades.

“One of his – ahem – friends ran out of the room at about thirteen hundred hours. He kept saying ‘Julian’s dead’.” As if in response to this news, shouting erupts, somewhere in the far reaches of the east wing. Almost in unison, they turn towards it, listening out for any details. Doors slam and a car fires up outside. Someone’s left in quite a hurry.

“We should go and check if he’s stayed on.” Says Pat. The Captain nods, and neither of them move. “Come on then.” Pat grabs the Captain’s hand and pulls him along a few steps in the direction of Julian Fawcett’s room. When they arrive outside the door, both take a moment to steel themselves before stepping through. After all, they’re both well aware of what he and his friends came here to do. They discussed it loudly and at length for several hours upon arrival.

“Oh, Good Lord.” Whatever or whoever killed Julian, his body is currently tied to the bed, each limb in a different corner, and his trousers crumpled in one corner of the room. The Captain almost immediately averts his eyes to stare at the ceiling, while Pat is left looking determinedly at the floor. Nothing whatsoever is left to the imagination, particularly from the unfortunate angle they have arrived at.

“Ah, you must be two of Heather’s. Got a thing for uniforms, has she?” Julian chuckles from the bed. “Knew I liked her.” Bristling at the nerve of the man, Pat tries to figure out where to look and what to say. “Look, do me a favour and untie me, will you? B got spooked when I passed out, must’ve run off.” It’s incredibly strange to watch him speak, like there are two Julians in one place, one moving and talking, the other perfectly still. B must mean the man outside, the one who left in a hurry, Pat figures, while the passing out was instead passing on.

“Please move.” Now staring resolutely at the headboard, Pat tries to clear the lingering mental image. “You’re at a bit of an awkward angle, and we need to talk to you.” Julian almost audibly rolls his eyes. How he doesn’t strain something, Pat will never know.

“I can’t move, I’m tied down.” He says slowly, almost spelling it out for them. “I need you to untie me first.”

“We can’t.” Still looking at the ceiling, the Captain replies in the same slow tone.

“We’re ghosts.” Pat adds.

“And so are you.” He glances at the Captain, oddly pleased with their synchronicity. Meanwhile, Julian gapes at the pair of them, whether in confusion, disbelief, or some mix of the two. He sits up, getting off the bed, but refusing to look back at his body.

“This is some kind of joke, isn’t it? Did Barclay put you up to it?” Denial then. It’s an almost embarrassing reaction for Pat to watch, particularly as he knows he’ll see this man every day for the rest of their shared afterlife. “Excellent costumes by the way.” Julian stops in front of Pat and flicks the arrowhead. Pat winces, stepping back automatically. The one thing that can still cause him any physical discomfort, and Julian appears to have found it right away. Pat can’t help but think this bodes poorly for their future relationship. When he looks up again, the Captain is holding Julian by the wrist and looking like he wants to punch him.

“Right.” Says Pat, getting properly angry now. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but that’s no excuse to be a dick. You’re dead. You can’t even knock a mug over anymore.” He pokes Julian in the middle of his tie to emphasise the point.

“How dare you!” Tearing his arm free of the Captain’s grip, Julian puffs out his chest, ready to start ranting. “Do you know who I am? I’ll have you know I –“

“I don’t care.” Pat replies, staring Julian down. “You might’ve been some hotshot tory when you were alive, but now you’re just a ghost without trousers. Now, I know you don’t care who I am, but I’m going to tell you anyway, so you know who to come to for help, because I’m not a complete and utter wazzock.” There’s stunned silence while Pat pauses for a moment. The Captain has a look on his face that is best described as impressed. Naturally, Julian has noticed this, giving him side-eye that rivals Mary’s abilities. “Alright. I’m Pat, this is the Captain.” Julian raises his eyebrows and says something under his breath, but Pat ignores him and keeps talking. “You’ll meet the others in a minute, when you’ve calmed down and got a grip.”

“Look, you’re clearly good actors, I’ll give you that, but I can’t be dead. I’ve finally got a slot in PMQs tomorrow.” While he rambles on, Julian wanders over to the cup and gives it a push. His hand goes right through. “See, it moved!” He says, looking over at Pat and the Captain, both wearing identical expressions of utter distaste. “As if you two lovebirds could do any better.”

“Ngk.” Both Pat and Julian turn to look at the Captain, confused by this outburst. “Ahem. The fact is, Fawcett, that you couldn’t have moved the cup. None of us can, because we’re all ghosts.” He gives Pat a stern look, causing him to look away quickly, rather than keep staring. Lovebirds, he thinks, and wonders if he’s being too obvious.

The three of them turn to look out the window as gravel crunches outside, interrupting the conversation. Julian crosses the room in three quick steps, sighing in what is evidently long-suffering frustration. “Tabloids. Barclay will be long gone then. The man has a gift for avoiding them.” Pat leans to see the car pulling up, looking impressed as a woman in a sharp suit gets out with a camera almost bigger than her torso. He doesn’t doubt that the tabloid press is familiar with Julian’s antics. Though Heather doesn’t talk about the news that often, Pat has picked up bits and pieces about her acquaintances, and Julian Fawcett always seems to be associated with some kind of trouble. Needless to say, Pat does not have a high opinion of him.  
It dawns on him that the reporter will be in this very room within minutes, photographing everything for tomorrow’s front pages. Any remaining dignity that Julian has will be gone should they stick around to watch. Despite his dislike of the man, Pat can’t just let that happen.

“We should go and meet the others.” He accompanies this with a significant look at the Captain, who frowns as the front door opens and voices are raised in greeting.

“Ah. Yes, quite. At once, in fact.” The Captain nods at Pat, who beams back at him.

“I thought we were going to wait.”

“No time like the present!” Artificially bright and chirpy, Pat’s voice squeaks a little, Julian giving him a suspicious look as he is herded out of the room. This is how it’s meant to be, he thinks, with he and the Captain working together. He can’t help but smile as the Captain catches his eye, looking bemused by the strangeness of the situation. Despite the presence of Julian, it’s one of those perfect moments where they understand each other completely, one which Pat will store up in his heart to think of on rainy days.

“We never talk anymore.” Pat sighs. “He’s always busy talking to Julian.”

“Yous were talkings to him yesterday.” If Pat wasn’t so caught up in his own wallowing, he’d notice the frustration in Mary’s voice, evidently familiar with this little speech of his.

“It’s not the same as it was before. Just because Julian can push a cup. Doesn’t make him special.” He shoots a death glare across the lounge to where the former MP is lounging, engrossed in a chess game with Robin.

“Never speaks of anythings else. Pat this, Pat that.” Mary puts on an impression of the Captain, puffing herself up. “Mary, did yous know that Pat can speaks French? Mary, did yous know that Pat has seens the sphinx? Mary –“

“Sorry.” Shame creeps onto Pat’s face. “I know it was the same when I turned up.”

“Thats be last weeks.” She replies, Pat laughing bitterly in response.

“At least he’s not like that about Julian. Not yet, anyway. Not to me.” Mary gets that look on her face, like she’s praying for patience, which usually means Pat’s being obtuse, though he can’t for the life of him figure out how. Looking wistfully at the door as if longing for the Captain to walk through it, he sighs again. “I know it sounds silly, but I thought what we had was special.” Meanwhile, Mary’s expression evolves into looking like she wants to bash someone’s head against a table – either her own or Pat’s. “I know.” He says dejectedly. “I’m being silly.”

“I thinks he likes you more than Julian.” Offering her a smile, Pat continues to look at the door.

“I really really like him.” Pat looks at Mary earnestly, intent on making her understand. “Feels like I have done forever.”

“We all knows that.” Says Mary. Pat doesn’t look surprised at this new knowledge. He takes a moment to look around the room, sighing while he acknowledges that everyone present knows about his feelings for the Captain. “He doesn’t, obviously. Couldn’t see a feelings if it hits him with a bricks, that one.” After a moment, she side-eyes Pat, assessing him. “Robin thinks he will finds out next times someones dies.” If anything, Pat looks more dejected. “Kitty keeps changings her guesses when yous two go out togethers.”

“He’s not going to find out.” He replies.

“That guess be takens. Lady Button already said that ones.”

“No, I mean he won’t find out. I’m certainly not going to tell him. It’s obvious he doesn’t like me in the same way, and I’m not going to go and ruin whatever’s left of our friendship with my unwanted feelings.” Mary tries to say something, but Pat’s on a roll. “I went and got a crush, there’s no reason for me to make that his problem when he’s not interested in me like that.” Once again, Mary looks like she’s praying for the patience to resist bashing his head through a table. Pat sighs heavily and traces the worn embroidery of the sofa beneath his fingers. It doesn’t seem fair that this is how he spends eternity, pining after a handsome man with no interest in him. He had enough of that in life.

“Ah, Patrick. There you are.” Pat looks up eagerly, smiling at the Captain as he enters the lounge. “Fancy going for a walk? There’s a new kind of mushroom come up on one of the tree stumps, and I’d appreciate your help identifying it.” He gets up far too quickly, crossing over to the Captain without acknowledging anyone else.

“It would be my pleasure.” Beaming up at the Captain, he tries to dispel any doubts he had about losing him to Julian. They still have this, at least. And maybe, if he tries not to think of what they were like before, Pat will be able to convince himself that this is enough.


	4. Only blue or black days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again!
> 
> Thank you for being patient with me as I grappled with this chapter for a couple of months!
> 
> Thank you Lana for this incredible playlist, which has kept me writing when I ran out of ideas.  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7tKMyeTx0bGVLFczE9ej4m?si=MXGCxgbuSd-Hm3u6WD8kcg
> 
> Thank you all for reading this far, and please do let me know what you think of this!
> 
> -Jay

“So. They called him Pat.”

“Yeah. After me!” If Pat didn’t know better, he would call the look on the Captain’s face fond. “Didn’t even get to meet Daley, and now I’ve got a grandson with my name.” He beams with pride, pushing his glasses up his nose. Mike walks in between them to fetch his morning toast, diffusing the moment as they politely wait for him to leave again.

“I do know that the war’s over.” The Captain says quietly, once he’s gone. Wincing, Pat looks down. This was always going to come up again, which doesn’t mean he planned for it. In fact, he was hoping, rather naively, to avoid the conversation forever. “I suppose we’re all holding onto our own times a little.”

“I’m sorry about that.” Says Pat, trying to meet the Captain’s gaze. “Must be hard, watching the world move on.” Again, they step out the way as Alison comes through, dropping a pile of letters on the counter-top and then leaving for the lounge area, followed by an excitable looking Robin. They smile at each other, amused by the rate at which everyone has settled into this new routine. “Guess it’s easier for me, what with Carol still being alive.”

“Hm.” He seems unimpressed by the mention of Carol. Pat suspects that the Captain is harbouring a grudge against her for some reason, though whether for the cheating or something else, he can’t tell. There’s a lot that he can’t tell when it comes to the Captain, even after all these years.

“My point is – well, what I was trying to say was – we all hold onto our times, and that’s fine.” The Captain doesn’t reply, which Pat takes as a good sign. It means he doesn’t actually disagree with him on that point. “But there are things we hold onto that aren’t good for us, you know?” He presses on, stepping a little closer to the Captain, and almost immediately regretting it, as his thoughts fill up with calculating the gap between them, both too close and too far from one another. “And whatever those things are, we don’t have to keep them with us.” Surely, he knows, Pat thinks. His feelings seem so obvious, radiating out in everything he says and does, that he can’t imagine the Captain not seeing them. If only he could name the emotion lurking in the Captain’s silences, dissect the thoughts that make him smile or look away or lean closer.

“I suppose we all have skeletons in our closets.” There’s silence for a moment, while regrets hang in the air like dust. There are altogether too many of both in Button House. “I wanted to say… well, I understand you were upset today, because of what you learned about Carol and Morris.” He looks supremely uncomfortable but continues anyway. Nobody likes discussing awkward topics like this, even if they’re used to it, which the Captain is not. “Anyway, I thought I’d make it clear again, in case… well. If you need anything, whether that be a shoulder to cry on, or help sorting something out, or… anything else. The point is, you can come to me.” Pat is touched and smiles at the floor, unable to meet the Captain’s eyes for long without wanting to hug him.

“It’s a bit ironic, I suppose. Carol was always worried I’d get bored with her and run off with some bloke.” The Captain makes a small choked sound, as if holding back something and Pat realises that this is new territory for their conversations. Care is required, more so than usual.

“You’re…” Frowning, the Captain tries again. “You like…”

“Anybody, really.” Pat replies quickly, trying to be clear. “Well, not anybody, but… anybody. Haven’t really talked about it, have I?”

“I don’t believe that it’s ever come up in conversation, no.” They’re both silent, Pat looking concerned. The Captain notices this. “You mustn’t think I disapprove.”

“I don’t. Honestly, it never even crossed my mind that you might.”

“Good. Quite right.” He hesitates before he continues, as if deciding whether or not to say what he wants to. “I suppose that sort of thing was normal by your time.” Pat shrugs, trying to think of a way to be encouraging and truthful at the same time.

“Not really.” The dejected look on the Captain’s face is almost too much to bear. “But it’s got better, from what I understand. Alison was showing me some photographs from pride the other day, I’m sure she could show you if you asked, so you can see.” Too late he realises that the concept of pride may be a foreign one to somebody who’s been tethered to Button house since 1945. “Uh, pride’s a parade. Happens all over the place these days, Alison was saying. It’s to celebrate the community, show that we’re not scared of being visible.” A melancholy expression settles on the Captain’s face. Pat can only guess what he’s thinking about.

“What a time to be alive.” He says, so softly Pat almost misses it, and looks up to meet his gaze. “Or dead, I suppose.” They both chuckle at that, looking away and stealing glances back at one another in the manner they have both become accustomed to. Something feels different. Pat almost wants to say everything. Perhaps, he thinks, being let down wouldn’t hurt too much.

“What are you lovebirds up to?” For a second, Pat allows himself the pleasure of imagining punching Julian in his permanently smug face. The Captain splutters indignantly and steps back. The moment, whatever it was or could have been, is ruined.

“We were talking.” Says Pat shortly, glaring at Julian. Unfortunately, this has no effect, as he simply winks in an exaggerated fashion, immune to the disapproval of others.

“Talking, hm?” Julian is being even more insufferable than usual. “Is that what you’re calling it?” Not for the first time, Pat considers that Julian’s real skill is his ability to make absolutely anything sound filthy.

“For God’s sake, Julian!” Silence settles over the room. “Just because I happen to enjoy Patrick’s company does not mean that anything is happening between us!” Mouth suddenly dry, Pat does his best to avoid looking at the Captain. He can see Julian out of the corner of his eye, looking abashed for once. Somewhere in the back of his head, he realises that this means the Captain talks about him to Julian, and a small part of Pat celebrates despite the circumstances.

The Captain turns on his heel and walks out, drill stick tucked neatly under one arm. Still processing, Pat stares after him longingly. Once he’s gone, he glares at Julian, openly furious with him.

“I hope you’re happy with yourself.” He hisses, poking Julian in the tie. “You think he’s going to talk to me again now?”

“I hardly think-”

“That’s your problem. You don’t think. Not with your head, anyway.” Julian holds up his hands defensively, stepping away from Pat’s accusatory glare.

“Now, let me be clear.” When Pat doesn’t interrupt him, he looks slightly lost for a moment before blustering onwards. “I certainly didn’t intend to scare him off like that. If you ask me, it’s a bit of an overreaction.” He gives Pat a sly look. “Perhaps you should go and chase after him. Make him see sense” This is infuriating mostly because Pat was considering chasing after the Captain and doing something dramatic, which now can’t be done, because Julian thinks he should. Instead, he considers once again how satisfying it would be to punch Julian in the face.

“Go and annoy Thomas or something.” He gestures towards the lounge, where Robin can be heard laughing loudly. “I don’t want to look at you right now.” Something in Pat’s voice makes Julian remain quiet and leave without protest. It’s a victory that Pat is in no mood to savour.  
After he’s gone, Pat waits without moving for about a minute, listening for anyone else’s approach. The kitchen is silent, brightening with the new day. Pat puts his head in his hands, leaning back on the counter. His shoulders shake as he stands alone in the kitchen, unwilling to let the others see him so effected.

It’s nearly an hour before anyone comes in. Alison is humming something vague and catchy, not shadowed by any ghosts for once. She stops in the doorway when she sees Pat, staring blankly at the opposite wall, unmoving.

“You alright there?” No reply, so she puts the plates down on the counter Pat isn’t leaning on. “Is it the death day stuff still?”

“I’m fine.” It’s an automatic response that he knows isn’t believable. “It’s nothing.” He tries again. If anything, Alison looks even less convinced.

“Look, if you need anything…” She trails off, evidently still trying to figure him out.

“I don’t.” Immediately, he regrets his too-quick response. “Sorry.”

“You sure you’re alright?” Probing for more information, Alison pushes the plates further back on the counter.

“I’m not, really.” He says, hoping to placate her after his outburst. Unfortunately, this answer requires elaboration. “It’s complicated.”

“I’ve got time.” She pushes herself up to sit on the counter, avoiding kicking at the cupboard doors. Pat decides to just tell her. It’s not as if nobody’s going to find out. Nothing stays secret for long in Button House, particularly not when Julian knows about it.

“I came out to the Captain.”

“Did it not go well? I thought he was…” Again, she trails off, leaving Pat to interpret.

“No, no it went well. He might ask you about looking at some pride pictures, by the way.” She looks confused. “Except afterwards, Julian burst in and ruined it.” Understanding settles in, and she sighs sympathetically. “He made a joke about us being together, and the Captain got spooked and ran off.” Alison winces, and then notices the look on Pat’s face. Understanding dawns.

“You like him, don’t you?” A sharp laugh, as Pat looks towards the door.

“I’ve been head over heels for him for about thirty years now. I think it’s more than just liking him.” From someone else, it would sound almost bitter, but Pat just sounds wistful. The expression on his face could almost be called lonely, despite his friendliness with everyone. Once again, Alison is struck by the idea that she doesn’t really know the ghosts at all, that there is so much below the surface that she can’t quite see. It’s frustrating.

“Can I help?” She asks, adjusting herself so as not to fall off the counter. The offer appears to give Pat strength.

“No, I’m fine.” He insists, holding his head up high. “It’s nothing, really. I’m sure it will pass.” They both know he’s lying. Still, Alison hops down, grabbing a bottle of dish soap and turning the tap on. He’s grateful for the lack of response, the opportunity to be quiet. After a minute, she thinks of something to say and turns around, only to find he has already left.

When Pat walks into the lounge, it goes quiet. Julian is stood by the other door, through which he quickly leaves. The Captain, regrettably, is nowhere to be seen. Avoiding looking at anyone in particular, Pat gathers himself, taking a deep breath, in and out. Business as usual, pretend nothing’s wrong. He thinks about walking in the spring fields and puts on a smile that doesn’t feel entirely faked.

“Right, it’s Kitty’s turn to speak for food club, so everyone gather round!”


	5. The common tongue of you loving me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I be the first to say holy shit?
> 
> with this chapter, Final Breath has broken 1000 words (ahh!) making it officially the longest thing I've ever written. Which, again, holy shit. I also have another chapter planned (holy shit) and it's already slightly written at the time of posting (holy shit!) anyway, I'm excited for all of you to read this!
> 
> Thank you all so much for supporting me through the writing process, particularly certain Ghiscord members (I hope you know who you are) and a special thank you to my sister for being thoroughly unimpressed with me throughout and thus being an excellent person to bounce ideas off.
> 
> Enjoy and please comment below
> 
> \- Jay

It happens when they’re watching Four Weddings and a Funeral.

Julian requested the film, and for once, Alison has agreed to his choice for Friday film nights. Everyone is excited, if a little apprehensive. Films suggested by Julian are usually turned down for a reason.   
Pat feels like an exhausted father of eight ghost children at times, and never more so than when he flops onto the sofa for film nights. From the Captain’s heavy sigh as he takes the seat next to him, he feels the same. It’s a rare opportunity for the two of them to relax as the others are distracted for a few hours by a film – which is something neither Pat nor the Captain have to invest any effort into organising or controlling. As everyone else settles down around them, Pat steals glances at the Captain, watching him relax, bit by bit, until he lets go of his iron-backed posture and leans against Pat’s shoulder. This is the other thing he likes about film night. It’s an expression of trust and familiarity that the Captain is so willing to let himself rest with Pat, and one that Pat treasures. For once, there are no worry lines, no frowns, nothing but peace on his face. 

He doesn’t know why or how it dawns on him, only that, as he looks up at the Captain, sometime around the second wedding, and something clicks, and he realises that the Captain is in love with him. Pat’s breath catches in his throat and he goes perfectly still, as if trying to avoid disturbing a skittish creature. The thought fills him up until he thinks it might overflow. It seems a miracle that nobody else has noticed as he re-evaluates every conversation they’ve ever had in this light. Time slows and speeds up, becoming liquid around him. 

“Pat?” The Captain asks softly. “Are you alright?” 

“Hm?” He blinks and realises the credits are rolling. People are getting up, heading off to bed. Julian has just left, in the company of Thomas and Robin, all talking rapidly. Pat dreads to think what they’re up to, and decides that, right now, it’s none of his business. Of course, he will probably regret that later, but all things considered, Pat thinks he’s got a bit much on his plate to be wrangling those three as well. “Yeah, I’m alright. Just drifted off there for a moment.” Standing up, Pat looks around to see who’s left already. It’s almost everyone. Only Kitty, Mary, Humphry’s body and the two of them remain. Even Alison and Mike have gone, escaping quickly for a rare early night. He tries to formulate a game plan, some way to confirm the thought bouncing around his head.

“I’m going to be heading to my room then.” 

“I’ll walk back with you.” Pat replies quickly, smiling up at the Captain. “I just need to talk to Mary quickly.” 

“Of course.” Both are reluctant to be the first to move, Pat scuffing his shoes against the floor while the Captain adjusts his drill stick. “I’ll wait by the door.” They look at each other for a moment more, unspoken words hanging between them, before he turns on his heel and walks over to the door, where he stands at attention, the effect slightly ruined by him smiling at Pat when their eyes meet. 

“Mary, can I have a word?” She and Kitty break off their conversation, and Pat realises it’s going to have to be a word with both of them. “It’s about that betting pool.” They exchange a significant look.

“Yous aren’t allowed to enters or know other peoples bets.” Kitty nods in agreement, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet. This rule is new to him, and he wonders when everyone else got together to discuss the legality of Pat entering the betting. 

“Otherwise it’s not fair.” Her eyes go wide with earnestness, and Kitty looks particularly serious for once. Evidently the rules of the betting pool are considered very important. Glancing towards the door, Pat wonders if the Captain can hear them from where he’s standing. For a moment, he considers leaving it, turning around and walking back to his room, having a normal conversation and continuing to pine after him for the rest of eternity.

“No, I don’t want to enter.” A deep breath to steady himself, and then Pat goes for it. “I want to know if there’s another one.” He locks eyes with Mary, who is just barely disguising a grin, searching for confirmation of his hopes and fears in her gaze. Meanwhile, Kitty squeals with excitement, glancing between the Captain and Pat in possibly the least subtle way she can. Whatever this looks like from where the Captain is standing, Pat is willing to bet that he’s at least a little bit confused. 

“There mights be.” Mary says, managing to look shifty and excited at once. It’s the last confirmation Pat needs. He nods and tries not to look as though he’s in the middle of a crisis. Best to stay calm and figure out how to cope, rather than get asked awkward questions that he’s not ready to answer. Does the Captain know about the betting, he wonders, almost asking Mary before he decides against it. 

“Right. Thank you.” What to do next? A plan is definitely needed to figure out his next steps, whether they be to confess his feelings in a dramatic fashion or are somewhat more subtle. He needs space and time to himself to figure things out – his head is too full to focus on anything right now. 

“Good luck!” Kitty says, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Once again, Pat nods, before turning and half walking, half running across the room to the Captain. They walk in comfortable silence, taking their time as they stroll down the long twisting corridors of Button House together. Pat takes this time to observe the Captain, to watch the way that the light from each passing window highlights his features in silver and ice blue. Not for the first time, Pat says a silent thank you to whatever universal force decided that ghosts can’t blush. They stop in the hallway by Pat’s door, the closer of their rooms since the Captain moved, abandoning Pat for a better view and more noisy neighbours.

“Patrick, if you’re not too busy tomorrow-” 

“Yes?” He looks eager, standing in the darkened hallway with his face faintly lit by the distant lights of the lounge. The Captain looks a little nervous.

“Seeing as it’s getting warmer, I thought you might like to go camping.” Before Pat can say anything, before he can even process this, the Captain continues. “I asked Alison, and she said she would set up a tent for us in the orchard.” 

“I’d love to.” Pat says warmly, beaming at the Captain. He remembers mentioning going camping before, but never expected that the Captain would remember or do anything with the information. The fact that he’s planned it – a day just for the two of them, on what is as close to a holiday as they can get, being unable to leave the premises – is touching. If Pat wasn’t aware that the Captain fundamentally disapproves of physical displays of affection, he would hug him. As it is, he tries his best to convey a hug through his overjoyed facial expression, which he has got quite good at over the years.

“Good.” Clicking his heels, the Captain smiles back at Pat. “It’s a date.” Both of them are suddenly embarrassed, stealing shy glances in the low light. Pat considers saying something but can’t find the words. They sit just out of his reach, frustratingly impossible to gather and formulate into a coherent sentence expressing nearly forty years of head over heels pining. It’s a difficult subject to broach, whether one is alive or dead.

“Right.” Says Pat, reaching backwards and stumbling when his hand goes through the door. Some things never get easier. “I should –” He’s not sure what he wants to do, but he knows he should go into his room and get some sleep. 

“Yes. Quite.” Again, neither of them moves. They exchange a tender gaze, until Pat laughs quietly and steps backward through his door, suddenly feeling weak at the knees. Standing just on the other side, he hears the Captain muttering something to himself, sounding characteristically grumpy before he marches off. His knees click as he leaves, fading into silence as he makes his way down the long hallway and up the stairs at the end. Once he’s gone, Pat sits down on his bed, grinning to himself helplessly. 

“He loves me.” Pat whispers to himself, listening to the way it sounds. If possible, his smile widens. He feels like he’s in a Disney film, about to break into song. Falling backwards on his bed, he beams at the ceiling, unable to stop smiling. “He loves me.” He feels too excited to sleep, full of energy, head buzzing. “Right. Game plan.” Game plans have never failed him before – well, apart from the one time when he died – but anyway, he’s sure having one won’t fail him now. And besides, it’s not like death has been an altogether negative experience. He still believes being prepared is the best way to succeed, and he definitely intends to succeed in this case. It’s been too many years for anything to go wrong now. 

The camping is going to feature heavily. For one thing, Pat’s not sure he’ll be able to make it through the day without blurting out his feelings, so he might as well make it a plan. He can’t help but imagine a dozen fictional scenarios where they could reasonably end up in a relationship by the end of the day. Thinking of the end of the day, when the sun has set and it’s just the two of them, makes his brain short circuit slightly. He imagines sitting out under the stars. Both able to relax, at peace in each other’s presence, perhaps cuddling for warmth or kissing in the moonlight. He’d be going bright red at the idea if he wasn’t dead. Pat does tend to get flustered around attractive men.

It’s nearly summer, which means there are wildflowers coming up in the orchard and berries ripe on the bushes. He’s seen them carpeting the land around Button house in a patchwork of vibrant and beautiful colours and if Pat were at all corporeal, he would pick a bouquet for the Captain and present him with it and a grand declaration. He thinks about ways to do this anyway, spending some time in contemplation before deciding that the presence of either Julian or Alison, even for the purposes of flower picking, is probably a bad idea, and the presence of Mike, who can’t see or hear them, is an even worse idea, not least because he wants the Captain’s attention to himself, rather than having to compete with Mike’s arms.

The cracked ceiling of his room provides no further inspiration. He stares up at it, tracking the familiar pattern of fractures above his head, finding the pictures in them that he assigned years ago – a misshapen dog, a sort-of moon, a horse with three legs missing. It clears his head somewhat, allowing him to find enough of the peace and quiet he needs to drift off to sleep, which seemed far out of reach not so long ago. Slowly, the silence of Button House at night seeps through his mind, until the thoughts ricocheting around his head finally slow down. Slowly but surely, his eyelids grow heavy, eyes refusing to focus on the ceiling as his thoughts grow woolly and vague. The last thought that passes through before he succumbs to the sweet oblivion of sleep is that he should really figure out what Julian, Thomas and Robin were up to. And then, there is nothing. 

His dreams are filled with flowers and stars.


	6. What you'd do to me tonight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this is it for now! I have no further ideas for the main story, although there are "deleted scenes" I want to write and Lana's playlist (linked) may yet give me more plans.
> 
> Thank you everyone for reading this far, and I hope you enjoy!
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7tKMyeTx0bGVLFczE9ej4m?si=DXe0fQUvTxaYfFPmVhn-Ig

Pat wakes up to the sound of a crow screeching outside his window. This particular crow has been bothering him for a while now. He’s named it Julian, for slightly obvious reasons. On this particular morning, however, he is feeling less than furious at this crow for waking him up, instead grinning at the ceiling as he mentally prepares to get up and face the day. 

It’s not yet bright outside as Pat gets up and walks to the lounge with a stomach full of butterflies. At this time of morning, nobody’s there, so Pat has time to himself, nervously adjusting his scarf as he watches the sun continue to rise over the grounds. Unusually, it’s Mike who makes an appearance first, stumbling bleary eyed through the open door with a tea in hand.

“Any ghosts?” He asks, and Pat smiles broadly, happy to see another person.

“Morning, Mike!” Obviously, this greeting goes unnoticed, as Mike waves a thumbs up around the room in case there’s anyone there. 

“Alison’s gone out to set something up.” Again, Mike pauses, waiting for an answer he’ll never get to hear. “She said something about helping someone with a date, I think.” Pat feels as if he’s going bright red, despite not being able to blush anymore. 

“That’s for me. I’m going to tell the Captain how I feel.” He looks out the window towards the orchard, still in shadow. “It’s a pretty big day.” 

“So, er- I’ll be going now.” Pausing once more to listen for an answer, Mike heads back out, towards the kitchen. The lounge is quiet once he’s gone, with Pat left alone in the brightening daylight. He appreciates Mikes company, limited as it is, and likes that he makes an effort to talk to the ghosts, even when he has no way to determine whether they are there.  
While Pat waits for the Captain, he runs through everything he wants out of the day. After all, having a plan is always a good idea. To enjoy himself, to confess his feelings to the Captain, to figure out how they’re going to go forwards from this point – and he’d also like to sort out whatever Julian, Thomas and Robin are up to, but perhaps that’s a little much to be going on with for one day. 

Then the Captain walks into the room and all his thoughts leave his head abruptly. Pat hurries over to him, beaming. Whatever worries he was carrying with him melt away with the presence of the Captain, and he can’t help but feel ridiculously optimistic for their sort of date. 

“Morning Captain!” Clicking his heels together smartly, Pat looks up at the Captain and notes the pleased look on his face, the way his eyes light up at seeing him. His stomach feels as though it is full of butterflies doing backflips.

“Patrick!” Smiling broadly, he smooths his uniform down as if making certain that he looks his best. “Ready for the day already?” He asks, raising one eyebrow a miniscule amount.

“Reporting for duty, sir.” Pat jokes, unable to entirely conceal a laugh. The Captain makes a strangled sound and takes a moment to think of what he was going to say.

“Quite right.” He says and Pat grins, pleased with his ability to disrupt the Captain’s train of thought. “Shall we?” Taking the Captain’s offered arm, Pat feels a just little bit smug as he is escorted out of the house to what he is sure will be a wonderful day.

It’s certainly a very warm day, and the flowers are putting on their best show for the pair of them. They stroll, arm in arm, through the fields, enjoying the time to themselves without anything or anyone to cause a distraction.

“I’m sorry.” The Captain says suddenly. “This isn’t so different from what we usually do.” A frown line deepens between his eyebrows, drawing worry into his expression. Pat wants it to be smoothed out.

“I like what we usually do.” He replies, nudging the Captain with his elbow in a familiar manner. “I like going on walks.” After a brief moment of hesitation, he continues all in a rush. “And I really like you, too.” 

“Ngk.” Says the Captain, looking like he might just self-combust. “I mean – I’m sure the feeling is mutual.” While it sounds like a rather distant statement, Pat is absolutely overjoyed. He feels like doing a jig in celebration.

“These are new!” Pat says quickly, crouching down to examine some bright blue flowers. He automatically notices how close the Captain is to him with the ease born of several decades of practice. “Forget-me-nots. They weren’t here last year, were they?”

“I don’t recall.” Not a single part of the Captain’s attention is focussed on the flowers as he crouches down next to Pat, knees creaking painfully. He won’t be able to get up again easily, Pat knows, so he sits down on the grass, patting the ground next to him to encourage the Captain to sit too. Once they’re both comfortable he rests his head on the Captain’s shoulder, eyes half closed so that the world blends into jewel tones.

“They’re very blue.” He says after a while, gesturing to the flowers with his drill stick. “With some violets and perhaps a few bluebells, they would make a very nice arrangement for your windowsill.” Pat beams, shuffling a little closer. After a moment of hesitation, the Captain puts his arm around Pat’s shoulder. “Why did you stay in that room?” He asks.

“It’s just a room.” Shrugging, Pat lets his eyes slide all the way closed, trusting that he won’t fall asleep. “I don’t need much, just a bed to sleep in.” Again, he considers whether to go ahead for a second, hesitating. “Besides, I’d rather spend more time with you.” He can’t see the look on the Captain’s face, owing to his closed eyes, but he can imagine he is somewhere between embarrassment and that pleased smile. 

“I do enjoy your company too.” The Captain replies. “I may not say it often, but I do.” Not sure what to say, Pat instead settles for reaching for the Captain’s hand and putting his own over it. 

At their impromptu campsite, not only has Alison set up a tent, comprised of a tarpaulin pinned between four trees and a rug laden with pillows underneath, but she has also moved the firepit nearby and lit it, so that the glowing coals provide some light as the sun sinks below the horizon. They sit together next to it, enjoying the warmth from each other, even if they can’t feel the effect of the small fire itself. The shadows cast by the trees and their branches play across the surroundings, falling where they will regardless of the location of the two ghosts beneath them.

“Thank you. This has been a wonderful date.” Trying not to yawn too much, Pat leans sideways, managing to lay his head on the Captain’s shoulder while avoiding knocking his arrow. He reflects on this briefly, considering that he’s had quite a bit of practice over the years.

“Ngk. Ahem. Very good.” Evidently flustered, the Captain reverts to his usual filler phrases and puts his arm around Pat, seemingly without considering it. Now or never, Pat thinks, taking several deep, even, and totally unnecessary breaths. 

“You know what I said earlier, about really liking you?” Pat asks. He feels the Captain tense up next to him and rubs his thumb reassuringly across the back of his hand, hoping he will relax. “What I meant to say is I think I’m in love with you.” The wind whistles through the treetops as if in encouragement – encouragement that Pat is very grateful for. “Now, granted, I’ve never had much luck with being in love, but I know that you make me smile whenever you walk into a room or when I think of you.” Glancing up at the Captain, he can’t help but feel a twist of nervousness deep inside. “I know that I miss you whenever you’re not there, and I know you’re my favourite person to spend time with.” He smiles at his shoes, and then looks back up. “I’m fairly certain that qualifies as love.” There are several moments of nerve wreaking silence, in which Pat wonders if he’s somehow got everything horribly wrong and considers how he can, as a ghost, move to another country to get the distance necessary to recover emotionally and socially from this.

“You’re not joking?’’ When the Captain speaks, the caution in his voice breaks Pat’s heart. Whoever caused him to believe that caution to be necessary, Pat wants to make them regret it. 

“No! I wouldn’t.” He reassures him, a little hurt by the implication. 

“Good.” Clearing his throat several times, the Captain seems to work himself up to looking at Pat. “I – ahem. I feel the same for you.” Suddenly, everything feels right with the world. At Pat’s overjoyed expression, he smiles warmly, hands trembling a little. “To be clear, I am in love with you. I have been for…” Trailing off, he frowns, evidently trying to think.

“So long you can’t remember?” Pat asks softly, chuckling at the expression on the Captain’s face. “Me too.” His hand slips into the Captain’s, giving it a gentle squeeze as they sit quietly together, listening to a pair of owls calling across the trees. The passing time feels liquid and indeterminate, compared to the solid reality of the two of them, sat side by side.

“I’d like to kiss you, if that’s alright.”

“I’d like to kiss you too” Pat whispers. 

And so they do.

Returning the next day, Pat and the Captain begin hand in hand, but bit by bit get closer, until they are almost indistinguishable in silhouette. They pause at the edge of the orchard, looking at Button House as it is bathed in the light of the sunrise. It’s a beautiful site, all pastel pinks and golden hues that almost seem to restore the building to its former glory. 

“Do you want the others to know?” The Captain asks quietly, a frown crossing his face.

“If you do.” Says Pat. Neither of them makes any attempt to move, still wanting to hold onto the magic of the previous day. A part of him – a significant part, too – wants to suggest going back to the orchard and leaving everyone else to their own devices for another day.

“I would be proud for them to know we’re together.” Drawing himself up to his full height, the Captain looks dramatic in the morning light. They begin to walk across the open field, getting almost halfway to the house before the Captain stops again. “Speaking of, I don’t believe I have asked you, officially.” He looks down at Pat, looking more than a little bit nervous. “Patrick, would you go steady with me?” Pat laughs, absolutely overjoyed, and hugs the Captain right there, reaching up on his tiptoes to kiss him in light of the dawn.

“Of course I will.” Beaming, he steps back, and brushes himself down self-consciously. “Of course.” Offering his arm, the Captain looks pleased with himself when Pat takes it, taking a brief glance at the windows to try and determine if anyone can see his moment of triumph. Unfortunately, the sun is reflecting off those windows and thus obscuring anyone who might be there. He puffs out his chest and falls into a snappy march just in case. As they reach the door, he can’t help but feel a little nervous. Giving him a gentle hand squeeze, Pat appears to understand the reason behind his hesitation.

“Together?” Pat asks, as the sound of ghosts arguing filters through the walls to reach them. Sighing at the knowledge that they’ll have to deal with whatever fight has broken out or scheme has backfired, the Captain agrees. He nods his head firmly, giving Pat’s hand a firm and comforting squeeze.

“Together.”


End file.
